X no Ninja The Padowan Chronicles
by Myra L. Howard
Summary: Three years after the mutant attack on the cure production facility at Alcatraz, the United States of America has undergone many radical changes - Jena Rameran and the rest of the X-Men know that a little too well. After a spontaneous prison-break, Jena finds herself in a whole other world.
1. Chapter 1: Going Out

*note: This is a Naruto fanfiction which is crossed with a VERY LOOSE interpretation of X-Men (the movies). I, as a writer, have taken much creative liberty with both series' plotlines, but I will attempt to keep the people in character as much as I can. The X-Men elements are more manipulated than the Naruto elements, partially because I have a better knowledge of the latter series; the only truly X-Men elements are some characters (i.e. Wolverine, Pyro, Magnito, Mystique, Storm) and the idea of the mutant race versus the human race and everything that goes with that. Oh, I can't wait to see all the traditionalist fans' hate mail for my extremely liberal interpretation of these movies. The events which have taken place in the X-Men world are of completely my creation, as far as I am concerned, and have taken place a little after X-3: The Last Stand, except for the main character's flashbacks.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own either series, as a whole or in part, in any way, shape, or form. They belong to their respective corporate owners entirely. This whole plotline has simply been plaguing me for several months; thus, I have written it for the reader's entertainment and for my own sanity, but not for money or anything of that nature.

Feel free to comment and/or criticize – if you criticize, explain explicitly why and/or provide a potential solution. I'll use what I get to improve my writing/plotline or whatever else is criticized.

Now that that's over… let's begin.*

Chapter 1: Going "Out"... Maybe.

It was my first time walking the halls and actually being able to completely see where I was going – my last, too, though I didn't know it then. I had only seen two rooms prior to that day (whatever it was) – my cell was one, the bloody, soundproofed room the other. I knew other rooms and halls existed between the two; I saw bits of them from between the burlap threads when they shuttled me between the two hemispheres of the world I'd been subjected to. I couldn't gather much: only that the walls were white and all of the attendants wore light gray uniforms, with something in bright blue on the back. And I was right – the walls were straight white. No cracks, no bumps, no stippling, no nail heads, just long slabs of dull white. I sniffed to myself, _How bland_. It made sense, though - the whole aim of this place and its people was to create conformity, an environment which could be measured and manipulated, calculated and predicted, at a will or a whim. For me and the other mutants here, that meant trouble.

I got the uniforms right too (sort of): doctor-like trench coats with light gray button-up blouses underneath and light gray suit pants, fastened with a light gray belt; the "modified" seal of the U.S. government ("e pluribus unum" exchanged for "libertas ex parilitas") on the trench coat's back was the only spot of color I could see. These gray-robed attendants hurried us all along the hallway, gently pushing and constantly whispering "Quickly, quickly!", looking over their shoulders after every phrase. I didn't understand the attendants' gentleness, the new and anxious voices, the strange procedures – none of us did. I didn't try to read their minds – it was too stressful. Even though the cure was wearing off, my power hadn't returned to full strength yet. But the entire procession mystified everyone. Nobody had ever brought us all out of our cells, let alone when we were at our strongest; the day just before the "cure" was administered en masse.

Everybody around me was either anxious or scared – their body language betrayed that. Despite the pain, I began to probe the unspoken words swimming in their heads, for a sense of comfort more than nosiness. They all felt at their peak – some even felt alive. It was the best day of the cycle for them, the last day. None of us could remember what was day or night, what calendar month or day it was. We all learned to measure time by the gaps between our shots.

They thought it was bittersweet, feeling so much stronger, but knowing the next day it would all be suppressed again, stripped and stolen away. I hated the last day, but I never told anyone that – while I was in the soundproofed room, hatred and anger would spasm and lash through me. In my rage, I would do anything, even give away the X-Men's location, just to have the chance to kill my captors when they made good on their promises to release me. I'd felt that anger only when I was fourteen – in the weeks after Jean died. The anger didn't dissipate outside of the soundproofed room. In my cell, visions of Jean would painfully flash through my head while I slept. At least I thought it was her – the Jean I saw was nothing like the caring teacher I knew.

On we all walked throughout the endlessly white maze, passing the same doors and the same walls over and over – well, that's how it seemed to me, at least, just putting one foot in front of the other, following the attendants. I rubbed my arms for warmth, noticing Pyro shuffling forward next to me. His face was gaunt, skin sallow. All light and life had been drained from him, leaving his army-cropped hair, eyes, and personality destitute and lackluster. Hunched over, the boy looked lost and confused – he must miss seeing fire, or at least holding his lighter. As deprived as he was, he'd probably make do with a casino matchbook. Just one match might even be a life-saver for him, though he looked pretty good compared to some of us.

His dull eyes shifted across the hall, above my head, to Mystique, who kept close to me – her cell-mate. Her color was on the verge of returning: her skin turning blue again, her hair in transition back to dark red (it changed color depending on the light), and eyes regaining golden tones. The burn scars all across her arms and chest had turned a light purple, and her veins stood out against her emaciated body – then again, all our bodies were like that. She walked with a straight back despite all the pain and humiliation – somehow she'd retained something of her pride when all the rest of us had given it up. She'd tried passing it on to me when I was made her cellmate. While I laid flat on my back, exhausted from a blindfolded walk from heaven to hell, she gave me the butt end of a piece of chalk and pointed to a stretch of wall, where "Raven Darkhölme – Mystique" was scratched out above three tics.

"Write your name. It'll help you remember who you are." Too tired to disobey, I wrote, "Jena Rameran – Butterfly" above her name. I pointed at the tic marks,

"Is that how many days you've been here?" She scoffed, as if at a novice.

"Days? You can't measure days in here – no one can. You measure time in shots. I just had my third. And you've just had your first." Since then, she guided me and helped me keep my sanity, rebuilding me every time I was ready to break. It didn't matter that she was Brotherhood – in that cell, we were the same.

Her eyes flitted over the hall, eying every attendant with suspicion at regular intervals. Callisto, on Pyro's other side, had the look of a caged, ravenous animal about to be set loose. Her eyes darted from one place to another, relishing the surging mutant power around her, feeling their strength intensify and feed her restlessness. Thoughts – hers and everyone else's – murmured into my ears, but I shut them out, as an exercise in self-control and respecting boundaries. Besides, I knew what they were thinking without even trying – you didn't have to be telepathic to know that hope for escape was growing.

I looked around to all the others with us – not many, of course, only fifteen or twenty. Judging from the number and the profile of the other mutants here, I'd assumed we'd been put in a high-security base in the Traz Triangle – basically mutant hell, even though the news stations refer to it as a series of "detention facilities". I didn't know many of the others personally – I didn't get out and fight much, especially after Jean's death, at Wolverine and Storm's request. Mystique had told me that most of the strangers came from an ambush – the government had offered negotiations with the Brotherhood, but several MID (Mutant Information Directorate) details jumped the Brotherhood envoy before they reached the summit. Magneto hadn't been there – Mystique convinced him otherwise. She took his place, despite the deep mistrust in her gut of the new regime's political tactics, which lent themselves towards martial law (back home, Ricky had called the tactics a "general lack of balls to deal with anyone face-to-face"). She'd smelled betrayal a mile away; in times when the military made the decisions, compromise was impossible. There was no other reason for the government to request a conference with "dangerous influences" than to eliminate them. I asked her why she went a while ago; Mystique only smiled, but said nothing.

And then there was a door, like every other one at a hall's dead end. Like the one that led to the soundproofed room. Mystique gently placed her hand on my shoulder and I leaned into her, casting my fearful eyes toward her. Pressurized air sighed, opening the door to a place I'd never seen before. I felt like Christopher Columbus as I walked into this new room, a third hemisphere. Most of the attendants congregated around a massive five-monitored computer with at least as many keyboards, muttering "Hurry, hurry," to each other while typing in random access codes (at least, that's what I assumed they were). They hurriedly whispered to another attendant - a young woman with bright red hair and black oval glasses – to get us into the steel capsules, glass doors standing open at the back of the room. She began to protest,

"But the ret-", Another attendant cut her off, without lifting his eyes from all the codes and images,

"Too much time. They won't want back anyways."

But I couldn't pay too much attention to them – the lady attendant was herding me into one of the four capsules in the back of the room, each with steel sides and a glass door, as though we were astronauts going to sleep for several months to awake on another planet. She positioned me in the center of the cylinder above a white dot on the bottom. But before she shut the door on me, I quickly asked her,

"What's going on?" She replied evasively,

"Anywhere's better than here, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then it shouldn't matter. Just remember – don't move off the white dot there, and when the countdown reaches '1', take a huge breath and, no matter what, don't let it go. It'll hurt like hell, but you'll be out of here soon."

With that, she slammed the glass door down, encasing my body in steel and glass. I watched passively as she did the same with Pyro, Mystique, and Callisto. Out... what a weird concept it was. Out where? It'd been a long time since I'd been truly "out". Would there be sun? Sand? Dirt? Whatever there was, it would be dangerous for me – danger followed any mutant wherever they went. But there was a chance – a small chance, but it was worth hoping for – that I would go somewhere where I was somebody, not something. What an opportunity that would be...

A beep sounded from the top of the cylinder – "5" appeared in flashing green, digital lights. Outside, the other mutants still gathered at the door jumped and pivoted around towards the slab of steel – they looked so scared. Some uttered cries of surprise. Huge dents appeared in the door. Oh no... the guards.

"4". The attendants scrambled on the keys, looking alternately between the computer and the door. A gap appeared between the sliding doors. A cure gun's muzzle stuck itself through, shooting a man randomly. He collapsed to the floor, convulsing; the glass door only muffled his screams.

"3". The other mutants took cover away from the door, which was quickly coming open. The male attendant slammed his finger down on one key, and slicked his hair back, shooting me a worried glance. He stood tall and erect, like saints do before they're martyred.

"2". The door burst open, and black suits and hard helmets flooded the room, shooting their cure guns wherever they could. Several syringes bounced off my cylinder's glass door. More muffled screams were added to the mix. My eyes began to itch in place of tears.

"1". The helmetless head guard in black – gray, ponytailed hair and young, cold face all too recognizable – pulled his handgun from the holster and shot all the gray-coated attendants in rapid succession. Blood spattered everywhere, staining the gray coats. All the other mutants had fallen on the floor, writhing. Holding back tears, I took an enormous breath. Pain shouldn't have be an issue for me – I'd stopped crying for physical pain a long time ago. That said nothing for emotional pain.

Ripping, tearing, pulling apart – I felt it for a second, maybe less. But it was so immense and unbearable... like being picked apart by thousands of hungry crows with serrated beaks, trying to force their way to the still-beating heart.

I hoped I would never feel it ever again.


	2. Chapter 2: Definitely NOT Kansas

Link to Chapter 1:  s/7883113/1/Chapter_1_Going_Out

Chapter 2: Definitely _Not_ Kansas

_My body snapped forward, crunching over my knees. Blood flushed to my face; my eyes itched. I wanted to scratch them, but my hands, bound behind me with twisted rope, were unusable. The room smelled overwhelmingly like onions. If I could cry, tears would've been threatening to fall. _

_White-hot pain pulsed like a current through my back, my arms, my legs, my curled toes. The way the air stung my open flesh, how the salt worked its way down into my back, burrowing, burrowing until the pain was so intense I could hardly think – I knew I was close to breaking. He knew it too. But he wanted to relish it, revel in the long-denied fruits of his labor. He walked back over to the steel table, his black shoes – clean but for one bloodspot on the toe – slowly making their way across my vision. No doubt he wanted to remember this last lash. _

_I wheezed in and out, trying to calm myself. A lonely sob escaped me – I couldn't hold it in any longer. I could feel him smiling behind me. I tried to regain the wasted air, but black chains, hooked to the white cement floor, constricted my upper body like a corset. I watched him dip the multi-tailed whip into a container of murky liquid. The metal barbs braided onto the tails clunk-clunk-clunked against the bottom, well-submersed in the juice. The gray coat barely moved, as if it were placed on a cadaver's shoulders. Every hair in his ponytail laid perfectly in place, almost serene. He spoke to the microphone, calm and composed,_

"_Computer, access journal 15.4." I hated his arrogance and self-pride. I wanted to rip the whip from his hands and give him a taste of his own medicine, let his back burn for days on end. "After a little more… persuasion… Subject 17 seems nearly prepared to reveal the desired information." The metal tips scraped the bottom as he pulled them out, dripping with the urine-colored liquid. "The subject lasted longer than anticipated, but… no matter." _

_He turned to face me, looking at me with dark, controlling eyes – no trace of shame anywhere. Only a tremulous excitement crept into his voice. Opening the scientist coat to reveal the black suit of a guard, he raised the whip, _

"_The Republic has won. It's over now…" – but the whip never hit. His body erupted into flame and the white room burned away like a photograph thrown into an inferno. A birdcall screeched, and, woven with fiery threads, an onyx-eyed Jean reached out to me —_

I woke up to a candle-lit, parchment-colored ceiling. When I tried opening my eyes, echoes of soft voices briefly hushed, as if waiting; for what, I couldn't have cared less – I was too busy being relieved about _not_ being in that white room. My entire body numbed, I let my eyes wander wherever they wished – to the walls, decorated with greens, reds, and yellows that clustered in blobs of fuzzy color; to the people around me – cream-coated men with weird heads and no hair, the red insignias on their backs disappearing as they scuttled out of my sight, heeding orders from the woman next to me. She was a blonde-haired, dark-eyed bombshell in a green kimono-style shirt (which revealed an offensive amount of cleavage) whose aura demanded obedience; to the sounds floating around, a combination I'd heard somewhere before but preferred not to remember.

As my other senses came to their senses, I found I was too cold for comfort, which put a blanket at the top of my stuff-I-need-right-now list. I did my best to look down at my chest (it was a pitiful attempt, but barely lifting my head off the pillow served the purpose) and realized why I was so cold.

I was naked.

My head flopped back down onto the pillow with a groan, the only outward signs. Inside, it spun, cavorted, blew apart. _Oh my God , Oh my God , Oh my God , Oh my God. Here I am. In a stranger's house. And I am nude,_ I thought. _I let my guard down… if Mom was alive… she'd have killed me for sure. _Just the thought of someone (other than myself or a doctor) seeing me naked – my stomach froze, physically manifesting as a wet chill running up and down my limbs, like cold electricity. I'd allowed someone to break Mom's most basic rule – "your body is for you alone." And I was helpless to fix it, defend myself, or scream. I could barely move my head – how in the world was I going to fend off someone probably twice my size and at least ten times my strength? But perhaps they'd taken what they were looking for – I wouldn't have known. I assumed I'd been out cold for a while – long enough for them to strip me, at least. My eyes began to itch and redden from the heat. _Am I in a brothel? And that revealing woman… is she the madam?_ I prayed not – for mine and my mother's sake.

Another female face appeared over mine – ample blonde hair pulled back into a long ponytail that spilled onto her shoulders, a red hair clip fastened on the side near her temple, blue eyes seeming… familiar. _Megan?_ I wondered. Had the phony guards transported me to underground Boston? Then she spoke – and I knew it wasn't anywhere _near_ the east coast.

"Oh no my Ewok."

But, of course, my mind (still searching for some of the marbles it lost in space) continued the Star Wars reference:

"…Padowan…" I breathed in, the feeling in my arms and legs returning bit by bit, along with some strength. It nearly knocked the wind out of me to close my legs, curl my toes, and groan. Somebody got the message – the Megan look-alike laid a white blanket over me. The older woman barked something at her and left, heels clicking on the floor as she slid a door open. I glimpsed a few worried faces and some colorful clothes before the woman shut it behind her.

I strained my ears to hear the fluid sounds, muffled by the door. That's all they were – sounds – but emotions carried through. The busty woman's voice was full of authority; another woman's was laced with worry, compassion, and a twinge of fear; an older man's voice spoke with inquisitive confidence – it did some (but not enough) to hide the worry.

The Megan look-alike said something else, coming out a jumble of noises my head couldn't make sense of. Naturally, I disregarded it – what could I do if she wasn't articulating clearly? Instead, I watched the walls; green streaks became grass, bright reds and darker greens, spotted with yellows and blues, morphed into butterflies. _Like the conservatory…_

"OI!" She slapped my arm, repeating something similar to the previous sentence, a little more curt than the first. She sounded angry but, more importantly, one of the cream-coats entered the room brandishing a hot bowl of soup that smelled up the whole room.

I zoned in on the little white bowl, forgetting about the mad blonde next to me. It passed to somebody else's hands. I began to wonder about its contents: was it potato soup with ham and carrots? Or beef stew, savory and filling? Maybe it was vegetable soup – not my favorite, but I would eat it in a heartbeat. Or perhaps a simple chicken noodle, good for the soul. I propped myself up on my elbows to peep over the rim – broth. Pee-colored broth. But it smelled good – my fantasies were disappointed, but that didn't mean the rest of me was about to reject something hot and edible. A plastic spoon sunk into the surface, bringing up a little pool of steaming goodness. I moved towards it, and the Megan look-alike pulled the spoon back.

"Chotto!" She gently reprimanded before blowing the steam away and putting it within range of my mouth. The pattern – dip, wait, eat, repeat – continued until the bowl was almost empty. The Megan look-alike handed the bowl to another cream-coat, reaching behind her to grab a set of clothes – I hoped they were for me. She got up and held her arms out to me. Revitalized, I had the power to hold my arms up to her; she did the rest, hauling me up, wrapping the blanket around my chest, and carrying me to the next room – a bathroom. The meadow scenes from the last room were replaced with plain white walls, a plain white tub, and a plain white chest of drawers. Attached to the wall above the drawers was a large mirror spanning almost half the wall.

I got thoroughly cleaned – my skin was raw and the water was gray once she was done with me. Once I was well-dried, she began to dress me in the dark green clothes she'd brought. But not before I caught a sight of my reflection in the mirror. I remembered myself as a robust teenage girl with dark brown hair flowing down past my hips, usually pulled back into a thick braid. A face more angular than those of other girls gave me a masculine feel, but never completely lost the feminine side. Never really thin, there'd been a little meat on my bones, and I did nothing to remove it – it didn't really bother me. But my eyes were my favorite – shapely eyebrows framed large, green eyes flecked with blue, gray, and a bit of yellow.

In that mirror was the shell of a boy. Brown, matted shag stuck up at wild angles in every direction, barely covering the sunken temples. The green eyes were too bright for the rest of the gray face, gleaming like desperate animal eyes, peering out of the caves where they'd been cornered. Thin lips parted slightly at the face's base, just above the thin chin. Cheekbones, collarbones, ribs, shoulder joints, finger joints, pelvis – every bone protruded, throwing deep shadows across the body. Over all, a faint bluish glow infused itself with the gray skin. I had to remind myself who that was in the mirror, that being which barely had its life and its eyes.

While I stared at the mirror, Megan look-alike pulled on underclothes, a shirt, pants, adjusted the sash at the waist. But I couldn't take my eyes off that child-like reflection in the mirror – a shadow of who I used to be.


	3. Chapter 3: Surprise!

Chapter 3: Surprise!

For a few days after Akimichi family found me, I was the cause of all sorts of … surprises that came their way.

Surprise #1: Another enormous hole in their yard. Except the one I left was twice as wide and deep – Chouji (the Akimichi's son) showed it to me once I was able to walk more than ten feet at a time. They'd run out of their house in nightclothes expecting to find a meteor or some other space anomaly – instead, they found a scrawny, starved boy (surprise #2.)

Surprise #3: "Padowan" is, in fact, a nonsense word, not a name. Megan look-alike (who finally had a name: Ino) was the first to discover this one the day after I was found, albeit a little late – the family and everyone else had taken to the moniker quickly. That morning when I woke up from a dreamless sleep, she was kneeling at my side with another bowl of broth – my breakfast. Expecting to be left alone after the feeding routine, I was confused when she, after a few unsuccessful tries at conversation, pointed at me, saying "Padowan", then pointed at herself, saying "Ino". Screwing up my eyes, I pointed at myself, saying "Jena". Now it was _her_ turn to screw up her eyes in confusion, but she eventually got the point,

"Jena," she tried to pronounce (it came out "ji-e-na"), pointing at me. I nodded. She wagged her finger, "Padowan, iie." I didn't know what "iie"meant, but a wagging finger meant "no". And I did _not _want to be referred to as a Jedi apprentice. She tried again, using "Jena" instead of "Padowan", and pointed to herself, saying "Ino".

Although Ino got the picture, I still had yet to completely convince everyone else that my name was Jena, but the concept was gaining ground. I hadn't yet told them who I was; a mutant who'd lived in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters over half her life. Neither did they know how I got there. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to tell them.

Surprise #4: This one came about while trying to explain the name mix-up to Ino. We both quickly discovered that _my _language and _her_ language weren't the _same_ language. And that all her plans for me once I'd recovered (whatever they were) were going to have to wait a while.

Surprise #5: Me, the _futon_, the pillow, and the blanket are the ONLY things allowed in my bedroom at night. Ino and the Akimichis learned this the hard way the next night, which wasn't so dreamless for me. I was sitting in the X-Mansion, listening to my friends and teachers speak in muffles, trying to scream but they couldn't hear me. Then the house imploded, sending splinters through everyone, including me. Heat pulsed through me like alarm bells. But before I could die, the X-Men, my friends, the house – everything – was consumed with flames (like all of my dreams) and a shriek.

The shriek was Ino's, bringing me out of the dream. A bowl shattering next to my ear and Ino landing on the floor woke me up. Both sounds had apparently woken up the entire family, all of whom came to the door to see what had happened. I knew, of course – the dream had gotten so intense that Jean's powers lifted and spun everything in the room around me. The vortex of floating breakables disengaged when I woke up, smashing to the ground before I regained enough sense to stop them. Once I became fully awake, I muttered one of the few words I'd learned that day, one that I would need about every day:

"Sumimasen..."

A young man, about Ino's age, stood by my door after that night. He was handsome – long, dark hair, pale skin, and white clothes covering a strong body – but his eyes looked blind. Somehow, without the aid of a dog or walking stick, he navigated the house just fine, never bumping into any walls, tables, or people that I saw. Whenever they talked, Ino called him Neji. All they seemed to talk about was _chakra_. Whatever that was.

With all the shaking-up I did in the Akimichi house, I should have known that I was due for a surprise of my own…

_Meanwhile... in Konoha..._

He rapped on the door, waiting for Hokage-sama's permission to enter. He couldn't imagine why he'd been summoned for a briefing – perhaps a reconnaissance mission alongside Anko to gain more information about Tobi's hideout and the size of the enemy's army. Getting into the field would be a welcome break from the previous missions overseeing inventory after inventory of war materials.

"Name and business!" She'd called out harshly. He steeled himself; she sounded stressed. _Nothing worse than Hokage-sama when she's stressed_, he thought wryly, responding without hesitation,

"Morino Ibiki, mission briefing." She shouted a reply,

"Enter!" Ibiki did so, shutting the door and bowing to Hokage-sama before she had the chance to take out her stresses on him. Shizune – Hokage-sama's thin, frazzled assistant – moved towards him, shoving a manila folder into his hands and began talking,

"Five nights ago at 0200 hours, a strange, white pillar of light appeared in the sky, piercing the Akimichi clan's grounds. Many witnesses feared the worst, but a teenager – a badly-starved girl – was found in the pit after the light dissipated-" but she was cut off.

"Shizune!"Hokage-sama shouted.

"Hai, Tsunade-sama!"

"Relieve Ino and watch over the girl. Give the Akimichis their orders also. I'll brief Ibiki about the rest." Ibiki opened the folder and began flipping through its contents. It all seemed a bit to strange for reality. He hoped Hokage-sama would clear things up.

"Hai!" Shizune bowed, grabbed Tonton, and left. _If Tonton is Hokage-sama's pig_, wondered Ibiki, _why does Shizune carry it around everywhere?_ He put those thoughts out of his mind and focused on Hokage-sama. Her blonde hair, pulled back into two ponytails, was frizzy and out of place. The trademark green jacket, the back emblazoned with the kanji for "gambling", sat rumpled on her shoulders. She rubbed her forehead, just to the left of the purple diamond at the center.

"The girl's name is Jiena. Ino and I examined her when she was found – she slept through most of it, but woke up about three-quarters of the way through, so we stopped. We didn't need to see much more anyway." Ibiki kept flipping through the folder, skimming the girl's health file. Severely emaciated, deep scars up and down the back, nothing good for this kid except that she was alive. Barely. "After several days on a diet of broth and water, she's improved visibly. She can walk, feed herself, bathe herself, that sort of thing. She's picked up a few simple words, but other than that, she can't speak. For what she knows, she communicates rather well."

"She doesn't speak Japanese?" It baffled him; if she couldn't speak, what was he here for?

"No, she doesn't. But she seems to learn quickly." Hiding his frustration, he nodded, and turned his attention to a note in the file:

"What are the 'strange chakra patterns' she shows?" Hokage-sama nodded,

"Her chakra flows irregularly. As a result, my healing jutsu was ineffective, healing in sputtering bursts. In addition, she seems to have some kind of Kekkei Genkai which allows for telekinesis without the use of hand signs. As such, I stationed Neji outside her room to monitor her chakra levels. He has found that, although she possesses chakra, there is no system to regulate it. It runs around her body haphazardly, pooling in some areas and leaving others dry. When she sleeps, the chakra activates subconsciously, as if acting on its own. He suspects it has something to do with her dreams." All of this put Ibiki ill at ease. A strange, scarred girl from the sky who moves objects with her mind couldn't be a good omen. If she couldn't speak Japanese, he couldn't imagine what his mission would be, since interrogation was out of the question. So he asked her outright,

"What is my mission, Hokage-sama?" She sighed, replying,

"If all goes right, she can be an asset to us in the war; we need every hand we can get. Your mission in all of this is to take her into your care. I want you to learn about her. Her origins, her fears, her motives, her strengths, her weaknesses, her likes, her dislikes, her friends, her enemies, everything. But, above all else, we must find out more about that power – and whether or not it can be controlled." He was dumbstruck. He'd been demoted from a prized interrogator to a babysitter. A babysitter for a lit stick of dynamite, it seemed. It would be a while before any information would become readily available – she had to be able to communicate it first.

"Hokage-sama... I fear I am not the shinobi for this mission. Perhaps Inoichi-san would be better suited? He could move directly into her mind and take the information we seek."Leaning back in her chair, Hokage-sama looked Ibiki in the eyes and explained,

"You have a complete knowledge of the human psychology, which is essential achieving to our objectives. Inoichi's jutsu, the Mind Transfer Jutsu, has proven ineffective. Ino, another proficient user of that jutsu, attempted it twice before – once while Jiena was awake and once while asleep. Neither worked. The irregular chakra patterns prevented the jutsu from working. Conventional information gathering methods are now the only remaining options. You can tell a lie from any truth. You can discern emotions from any movement made. Most importantly, you can put the pieces together, discover who she is without asking directly." Seeing that there was no way to politely get out of this mission, he nodded in acceptance, asking,

"When and where is the rendezvous?"

"Tonight at dusk in the Akimichi compound. Chouza and Chouji will be given instructions to have her ready to go by then." He bowed again and walked out, agitated. _I hope she does learn quickly, _he thought, _for I am unqualified to be a nanny._

_Back at the Akimichi compound..._

Night steeped into the sun's glow like strong tea, permeating the sky with rich black leaves, speckled with radiant white. At the western edge, the last bits of red and orange would soon die on the horizon, leaving light purple stains, the color of Mystique's scars, where they'd fallen. Over time, they would darken and darken until they were indistinguishable from the rest of the sky. The Akimichis, Shizune (my new caretaker), Ino, and Shikamaru (I'd only seen him for the first time yesterday, but he reminded me of my friend Joseph) were in the kitchen and dining room behind me, waiting, talking. I leaned my back against a wood support on the Akimichi's back porch and watched the sky in rapture, a _shouji _sliding door left open between us.

Everything was... more... in this place. Colors were brighter, the breeze cooler, the food warmer, the sounds more beautiful, the sky more impressive. All of my senses felt augmented, my powers easier to use – I felt more alive than I'd ever been, even before I was taken. My head buzzed with life, it ran up and down my arms, through my legs, made my toes tingle. I felt like I could reach out and take the wind and run it through my hands like water. Like I could paint my face with the colors of the sky and dance like an Indian and bring down the rain and lightning. Like I could scream with joy. Crazy things – I know – but it was enough to make my eyes itch and my heart explode. Feeling so much life after being so lifeless was... indescribable. The only downside was having to communicate like a one-year-old; a more than frustrating prospect. Despite the beauty and life I'd discovered, I would've given almost anything to speak English again.

I heard a _shouji_ open and shut near the front of the house, where Chouza and his wife welcomed a guest I'd never heard before in the house, one Morino Ibiki. He said little, but when he did, the house shivered with the depth of his voice – like Daddy's voice. But this man's voice was hard, almost grating. Daddy's had been a welcoming voice, always calm and collected. The three walked together into the dining room, and I peered in to see him. Everyone still seated rose to greet him; meanwhile, Chouza motioned for me to come in. I cast one more longing look at the sky, then shut the _shouji_ behind me.

Almost everybody's eyes were on me, but only one set of eyes caught mine. Eyes I'd seen before, but a world away. Daddy's eyes.

He looked exactly like him – tall, broad, and muscular, with dark eyes that saw through whatever pretenses you tried to hang onto. Dressed in a long, black coat and tight black undershirt, this black-bandana-wearing man could easily intimidate any stranger on the street, like Daddy could if he wanted to. But his aura was just the opposite – this man, Ibiki, was guarded; his hands naturally balled into tight fists, his mouth carved into a mildly disapproving frown, his eyes emotionless and calculating, searching for information. But when he looked at me, a brief glimmer of surprise – maybe shock – passed over his eyes, but dimmed almost instantly. His face was again emotionless and his thoughts incomprehensible, but he exuded apprehension. Distrust. Insecurity. A little disdain, even. It was the rigid feel of someone who'd been deeply hurt and vowed that he would ward off all pain from then on. _How off-putting_, I thought. _Why is he here?_

Chouza handed him a small bag of clothes Ino had brought to the house a few hours ago – she had gone through all of them, trying them on me to see if they fit (as in they didn't slide off my body.) I got it then – I was going with him. My stomach twisted, not from fear of this towering figure, but from his aura – accompanying this apprehensive, disdainful man to wherever he was going was very low on my priority list. I'd grown to like the Akimichis, and they seemed to accept me, if not like me back. Now I had to trade heaven for tension. _Perfect. I guess they didn't like me much after all..._

I looked at Ino, who smiled and motioned for me to go with him. Ibiki began walking towards the front door and I followed, looking back at the family, who waved and said their goodbyes (but it could have been "thank you God, she's gone"; I wouldn't have known the difference), before shutting the _shouji_ behind me.

He walked quickly, being almost halfway down the road to the Akimichi house by the time I shut the door; I was almost running to keep up with him. Periodically, he would look back to see if I was at his heels. If I wasn't, he would wait, moving to the side of the road and folding his arms, watching me catch up to him with those stony eyes of his. They pissed me off – I wanted to beat him home just to get those eyes to stop looking down on me.

We approached the outskirts of a crater after several minutes of spirited walking (for me) – actually, he approached first and waited for me to follow. Leaning on my knees for a breather, the wind caught a small, green leaf and blew it across my line of vision, hooking it around and carrying it over the crater's middle. I watched it for a moment, but noticed the city in the crater.

Streets radiated from the center, like branches sprouting from a tree trunk, and buildings of every color hugged the streets like leaves. Muted voices rose and fell, crowds of miniature people curved and split, the scene becoming surreal in the twilit glow of early night. On the outskirts of the streets, hundreds of tents glowed from the inside, like little parchment lanterns floating on a peaceful lake. The sounds of night were gradually taking over the raucous shouts of the previous day. Crickets called to the nightingales, hushed whispers of wind rustled the grass beneath me. I lost track of how long I stared, of course; how could you not? It was too peaceful a sight - I didn't want to look at anything else. It reminded me of home. The America I knew before the coup d'etat that put _him_ - General Wardell Bates - in power.

But Ibiki, evidently wanting to go, suddenly broke my reverie, picking me up. Before I could be surprised, he jumped over the barrier, skidding down the crater's side. Suddenly dependent on him for my life, I clutched his neck, my whole body tense. Dust and small rocks flew into my eyes as he rushed down towards the town. I buried my face into his shoulder and gripped him tighter. I wanted to scream, but no one would've heard me - it would've been buried in the flesh of his shoulder.

It wasn't until he slowed down and I felt the steady pace of footsteps that I let go of him. He gently put me down and I gave him the evil eye, earning me his first real facial expression: a smirk; his dark eyes glittered with laughter. I put a foot of distance between us and petulantly folded my arms, frowning like a scorned child. I heard a chuckle before we started wading through the sea of tents.

Most of the sun's light had died down, and the tent's lights became all the brighter; a few people popped their heads out to see who was treading the outskirts at this time of night, but immediately popped their heads back in, a flash of fear flitting across their faces. I fleetingly wondered why, but I lagged behind Ibiki while trying to think – I quickly abandoned the thought to catch up to him. Winding through the lamplit streets, he finally stopped at an apartment building, climbing a few flights of stairs to the fourth floor and going around back to the door to his apartment – evidently, the only apartment on that side. He took a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door, switching on a light.

The light revealed a small kitchen on the rightmost wall and low-lying table with two seat cushions on a floor covered by _tatami_ mats. Ibiki led me to the left, opening a small _shouji_ to reveal a long hallway. I followed him to the second sliding door on the left, which was an extra bedroom with only mats, a _futon_, and a pillow. Evidently he'd received a heads-up about my night terrors. He opened a door in the left corner, showing me a small bathroom. After putting my clothes in a corner and saying goodnight, he promptly walked out. Five seconds after the door shut, I was out.


End file.
